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The First Easter Mi 



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COMRIGHT DEPOSm 



THE 
FIRST EASTER MORN 



ERNEST VINTON BROWN 



A Collection of Twelve Pieces of Verse by the Author of 
"Worcester Poems" 



Concord, N. H. 
1919 






Copyright by Ernest Brown, 1919. 



DEC 16 1919 



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CONTENTS. 

The First Easter Morn 1 

Memorial Day 10 

The Law 12 

The Founders 13 

Endless Love 16 

Sight 17 

Poe, 1809-1909 18 

Questions 20 

Old Home Day 21 

Fair Newport 27 

Flag of Freedom 29 

Edition Closed 31 



POEMS. 



THE FIRST EASTER MORN. 

Birds sang as birds had never sung before; 
Soaring aloft as if to open heaven's door 
Ere yet the first burst of the morning ray 
Poured over Olivet the signal of the day. 

A hush not silence filled the brooding air 
Within a garden of the Holy City where 
Two days before had risen sobs of grief, 
Such as hearts give when sorrow shakes belief; 

Which yet believe because they have believed; 
For love is deeper when its love is grieved. 

The tumult has passed by; of crowds that 

mocked-, 
Yet cried aloud to God when mountains rocked 
And God with darkness frowned on their 

brutality; 



2 POEMS 

Of those who pierced His bruised humanity, 
Who touched His lips with bitter moistened rod, 
Yet cried at last, "This is the Son of God." 

The sobs which marked the end have died 

away. 
As passed with setting sun the Paschal day. 

The sun which veiled itself that other noon 
Has passed throughout its cycle and is soon 
To come with splendor, as before the stress 
Of heaven's travail o'er its Lord's distress. 

Above the murmur of the bees, 

Above the sighing of the trees, 

Above the calm which marked the song. 

Of angels' triumphing o'er wrong. 

Came floating through the air the sound 

Of steps which lightly touched the ground. 

So do we hurry when our loved ones call. 
Or mother hastens to arrest the fall 
Or her dear child; so love now swiftly ran 
To rescue from despair created man. 

Then Mary came who bore the spotless name 



BROWN 3 

And on her breast had nurtured him who came 
Purer than ever she j and now had died, 
With broken heart and cruel-pierced side, 
The Paschal Lamb for all the human race. 
Perfect in feature, form and heaven's grace. 

And Mary came whom He had purified so pure 
Her hope of heaven in that act was sure. 
Though she had borne the taint of earthly sin 
That only God's own Son could let her in. 

That woman came within whose upper room 

the last 
Of earthly sacrament had been ; so also past 
The time when one betrayed and those who 

loved had slept 
While He gave thanks for strength with which 

His trust was kept, 

Aud there were others in the loving throng 

that came 
Bearing the spices sweet, of every kind or 

name. 
To fitly spend upon the Lord's Anointed Son, 
Who unto such a death was the appointed one; 



4 POEMS 

Who in some day when hope was faint and 

body weak 
Had been made whole by words that He alone 

could speak. 

And she whose sins outran the rest 
Was first to come the tomb abreast; 
Was first to see the stone was gone 
Which on the way had made forlorn 
The hopes of all the mourning band, 
For fear among them was no hand 
To roll it from the holy room 
Where His pierced body had its tomb. 

The tidings her's to speed along ; 
Like prelude ere the sweUing song 
Fills nave and transcept with its power : 
So she, that wondrous pearly hour 
When dawn was breaking in the east. 
Sped backward to the very least 
Of those who turned more laggard feet 
Than she, whose love had been so fleet. 
To where the Holy One was laid, 
Whom, though they loved, had been be- 
trayed. 



BROWN 

To each, new life was now inspii;d, 
Each heart with zealous wonder fired ; 
They quickly reached the sepulchre 
Whose emptiness, first seen by her. 
Proclaimed that Roman seal was broken 
By One whose word is true as spoken, 
Be it for gain or yet for loss. 
At Eden, Sinai, or Cross. 

Then as one tarries as loves best, 
Back to the tomb came Mary last. 
To wet with tears the riven ground. 
Hoping that thus there might be found 
Some seed of hope that, watered so, 
Might spring to fairer form and grow 
To bud and blossom and fruition. 
The seed which gives to faith nutrition 
As manna in the former day 
Fed those when Moses led the way; 
This bread without corruption's leaven 
To be the living Bread of Heaven. 

As Mary wept, as we would weep 
If one were taken, in our sleep. 



POEMS 

Whom we love dearly, 'mid her tears 
Two angels seek to calm her fears ; 
Who clothed in white, at either end 
In mercy to Christ's friends attend 
Within that sanctuary dim, 
Upon the borrowed couch of Him 
Who had not where to lay His head ; 
Nor even when His body dead 
Lay three days in encircling rock. 
Slain Shepherd of a scattered flock. 

Sat they in brightness as the sun. 
Nay, rather of God's only Son. 
One at the head, the other where 
Had lain the feet wiped by her hair. 
" Why weepest thou? " the angel said 
Who sat where late had lain His head. 

As winds drive back the mist and rain 

Only to let them come again 

On swa5dng wheat, thus beating out the grain 

That earth may not be robbed of gain. 

So weeping stayed in Mary's eyes. 

And in her tempest's stilled surprise 

She answered thus the angel guest 



BROWN 7 

Who so her faithfulness would test, 
" Because they took my Lord away 
And I know not where he may lay." 

Love for the living is not love 

As love that weeps for a dead love. 

As Mary bowed again to weep, 

As wind sweeps o'er the grain we reap, 

Swaying and beating out the wheat, 

A tender voice as music sweet, 

Which she knew when she'd washed His feet. 

The angel's question did repeat 

And grasping at the faintest hope — 

All hearts at times are prone to grope — 

Still full of wonder why the tomb 

So soon became an empty room. 

And hoping he who questions so 

May know what she most seeks to know, 

Mistaking in her eagerness 

The garden for the wilderness, 

The precious jewel for the common thing — 

How oft we, too, when we should sing, 

Sob o'er the things we hold, and not 



POEMS 



Because of those we have not got. 
So Mary having Him she sought, 
Looked for Him now where He was not. 

As sunshine drives away the rain, 
Kissing its stricken earth again, 
So love that weeps will find its way 
Prepared where least it thought it lay. 

The brook casts down the dam of clay. 
The river, too, will find its way 
Beyond the shelt'ring fern or tree 
To lose its passion in the sea. 

Out of the mist of Mary's woe. 

Eternal wisdom planned it so, 

She knew her Lord by her own name 

As from His loving lips it came 

And falling down at His bruised feet 

With all her precious ointments sweet 

She offered homage as before. 

But not by Him is needed more 

Anointing for the offering 

Of Pashal Lamb or crowned king ; 

While earth's fears in the grave are cast 



BROWN 

Triumphant over death at last. 

While garden woke with hum of bees, 
The scent of rose, the sway of trees, 
Walked Mary with the Crucified 
Through whom is Hfe because He died. 

After the gray of April morn 
Had come the fulness of the dawn. 
The birds which sang 'mid hush before, 
Now sang as though through open door 
They caught a glimpse of Paradise, 
Oped by the purest sacrifice. 



10 POEMS 



MEMORIAL DAY. 

Thump ! Thump ! Thump ! 

Crutch, cane and wooden stump ! 
The Boys in Blue, in brave array. 
Are marching in the ancient way, 
Onled by Stars, which drew the slain 
To battle on the Southern plain ; 
Their ranks are thin, their hairs are gray. 
Yet they are marching Boys today ! 

Thump ! Thump ! Thump ! 

Crutch, cane and wooden stump ! 
For - WARD ! The order sounded clear 
To him who stood with Hst'ning ear, 
And feet just stepping into Life 
When Union travailed, in the strife 
From which was born the goddess fair, 
Whose spirit fills our breathed air. 

Thump ! Thump ! Thump ! 
Crutch, cane and wooden stump ! 
For- ward, a pause, then MARCH, it came- 



BROWN 11 

A march to battle for a name ; — 
Dare much and suffer, such is fame ; — 
That Union in exalted flight, 
Might see the sun emerge from night 
To nourish all the earth with right. 

Thump ! Thump ! Thump ! 

Crutch, cane and wooden stump ! 
To some the weary march is long. 
The struggle hard, to right a wrong, 
But they who left their bodies then 
In southern field or prison pen, 
Fell out upon the march of life 
To bind the wounds of civil strife. 

Thump ! Thump ! Thump ! 

Crutch, cane and wooden stump ! 
The foe was met, a victory won. 
And now detailed, by one and one, 
They seek Headquarters up above. 
Forget the strife and join in love. 
While some march on, till Grand Review 
When life ends here for Boys in Blue, 



12 POEMS 



THE LAW. 

Life is the same in law whate'er the form ; 
The seed upspringing in the womb of earth 
Differs in days, and shape, and name, from that 
Which bears the superscription of the Lord. 
Each to its t5^e is but the counterpart ; 
Yet one who watches how and when it grows 
Sees leaf of maple, oak, or other wood ; 
Or Aryan flush, or Mongol sallowness. 
Nor does life differ in the root of things, 
Save in the substance and the sustenance ; 
For while the tree is rooted to the place, 
Man's root lies deeper in his old beHefs, 
And nubbins growing on neglected corn 
But shows the law which also gives us rogues. 
Some roots lie near the surface of the ground, 
While tree and man sometimes go farther down. 
Then risen from the ground, or parent thought. 
Both grow by season and by circumstance ; 
The tree adds rings as sun may shine or fail, 
The man adds wisdom as time teaches all. 



BROWN 13 



THE FOUNDERS. 

O'er seas from every clime they came, the men 

to weld a nation, 
They brought their souls, with conscience free, 

to work a world's salvation. 

The songs of Gallic voyageurs rang above the 

chanting wildness. 
And mingled with the savage tongue a newer 

strain of mildness ; 
The west they sought, the farther west, where 

bold men might adventure, 
Where Kf e was free, and souls were free, and 

oijy God could censure. 

The stream they poured into that sea beyond 

the hither verging. 
Was met by Spanish cavalier to stay its restless 

surging. 

Across the main which bore his name the proud 

Castilian rover. 
Who forged the cross into a sword to win a 

bloody trover. 



14 POEMS 

Had come as bannerer for Christ, without His 

love so tender, 
Yet who will say the ray he brought was not 

the Light, though slender. 

So drunk with power, lust and greed his race 

fulfilled its mission. 
Another risen to the need then bore the world's 

contrition. 

The Latin passed, the Teuton came, the God of 

Commerce bringing, 
He sang the h)rmn that Luther raised, and 

through the forest ringing 
Antiphonal the chorus rose. New Holland to the 

Older, 
While faith in God the stronger grew, and men 

to priests the bolder. 

But God moves swifter than the swift, more 

slow than one the slowest. 
He passes by when man would stop, and uses, 

oft, the lowest. 

Across the wave a new race hastens, Norseman, 
Dane and Angle 



BROWN 15 

Wrought into one, to found a free home in the 

forest tangle ; 
Adventure, gold and commerce, and faith in 

God had beckoned. 
He also sought an argosy, and all for Heaven 

reckoned. 

The wilderness is full of faith in God and one 

another, 
And he beneath the open sky finds every man 

his brother. 

The time fulfilled which God had set, the world 

in childbirth quivered ; 
Full-formed, a nation then received the trust 

to it delivered ; 
In union of its parts was typed the miracle 

unending, 
That race in race and faith in faith will find its 

perfect blending. 

O'er sea from every clime they come, the men 

who weld the nation. 
They bring their souls with conscience free to 

work their own salvation. 



16 POEMS 



ENDLESS LOVE. 

I knew her in the olden age, the golden age of 

youth, 
When I was Boaz, lord of fields, when she was 

gleaning Ruth ; 
I loved her when at Haran's well I first with 

Rachel stood ; 
In Eden I beheld her form and knew that she 

was good ; 
When she wore Sheba's regal crown, magnifi- 
cent with gold, 
I laid my wisdom at her feet^ the greatest 

wealth of old ; 
And Esther, who it was I raised to sit upon my 

throne. 
Most beautiful yet humble queen, who dared 

approach alone. 
Was mine to love through age-long years ; but 

Love is ever new. 
And all the Love which I have known is that I 

give to You. 



BROWN 17 



SIGHT. 

In every place my feet have pressed 
Some bent twig or crushed plant 

Marked where they struck the mere ; 
Yet those who passed with larger view 
Saw not a living thing deformed, 

But said : A man passed here. 



18 POEMS 

POE. 
1809—1909. 

I see them on the streets of ancient Greece, 
With clacking tongue in each thin visaged face, 
In gossip free discuss their Homer bhnd, 
With whisperings of his poetic grace, 
Yet telling each new comer, " Homer's blind." 

He died, still blind, and then his song was heard 
Repeated on the frontier line of man. 
The rugged song of every age and clime ; 
The clackers, also dead, are mute, and scan 
No more the verse that knows not time. 

Then rose the clamor of the sons of them. 
To claim the birth of him who sang, though 

blind ; 
Disputing, while the song still vibrant rang, 
The deathless music which all ages bind, 
The song our matchless blinded Homer sang. 



BROWN 19 

What matter if our Poe is now distraught 
By critics; clackers of a later age. 
Disputing where his birth and what his place ? 
He still remains our lasting heritage, 
Weird mystic singer for the human race, 



20 POEMS 



QUESTIONS. 

Tossed on a sea, the fragment of a plan, 
Who knows the mission to be wrought by man? 
But, though to desert solitude they tend. 
Wind, tide and current all respect the end. 



Make or mar, break or bend, 
Ceaseless effort changes end. 
Idle words are more than sound, 
Even space has weight and bound, 
Limitless is limited. 
Life succeeds what we call dead. 



BROWN 21 

OLD HOME DAY. 
1905. 

This is the day of all days to him who has heard 
the call 
Of the wood, the field and the waterfall, 
And in the shade of the maple tree heard the 
cricket sing, 
Or the tinkling bells that the cattle bring 
Home at the close of the summer day, or the 
varied noise 
Of the farm we knew in those days as boys. 

Daily to each comes the toil that is ours to do, 

Be it here where nature is close to you, 
Or, be it thither, where Hf e has called with its 
mystery. 
For the soul attuned to that single key ; 
None of the thousands I know can do what is 
duty mine. 
And the task for you — ^it is only thine. 



22 POEMS 

Some in the forest still slay the pine, where its 
odor heals 
As the air is clove by the blow it feels ; 
Some in the city, with heart and brain of the 
fibre here. 
Feel the hot blood leap, as they sometimes 
hear 
Deep in their souls, the sweet call of home — 
which they knew so well 
They can tell each bound, be it rock or dell. 
Good for the heart is that call to home which is 
made today. 
To the many here, and to those away. 

Eyes that have blurred with the many days of 
our books or toil 
Are the ones which see in this rocky soil 
Gold of the spirit, the coin which only can pur- 
chase peace ; 
And in this our wealth is to find increase. 
Such we must spend to receive the blessing of 
peace today 
ThBt our eyes behold, as strife never may. 



BROWN 23 

Here in this field, barefooted, the boy used to 
spread the hay 
While his thoughts would wander far, far 
away, 
Where, in the shade of some restful nook, was 
a pebbly brook. 
Which he longed to wade with pole, line and 
hook. 
Over the fence by the wayside, here, was the 
place to find 
The most luscious berries of all their kind. 

Over this knoll was the trysting place where the 
boys for miles 
Laid their plans of state, with most subtle 
wiles, 
Hard for the farmer to circumvent with their 
tasks, or school. 
For a farmer's boy is not near a fool. 

School ? It was down in the valley, here, where 

the cool wood lay 
Not a quarter mile from its door this way. 
Many a boy on its brick-red walls rudely carved 

his mark, 



24 POEMS 

Now effaced by a paint that is white and stark. 
Why must the world be so hard on us,^when 
the boys some back, — 
To remove our dearest landmarks, alack ! 

Ours was a school where the floors sloped down, 
and the planken seats 
Gave as firm foundation as e'er one meets. 
Paint was not present, nor varnish, then, though 
the ruler bore 
Just a little trace where it'd been before. 

But, let us linger no longer, there, where we 
wouldn't then 
When we thought it nought but an irksome 
pen. 
Crossing the road, let us hasten to where the 
pond remains, 
Though the wood is gone for the woodman's 
gains. 
Dear were those trees, and we knew them all — 
as a boy knows men ; — 
But the pond! How small it has grown since 
then! 



BROWN 25 

Yet, it is good for a cooling plunge ere we climb 
the hill 
To the piles of quartz which remain there 
stiU— 
Diamonds, we thought, in our callow days, as 
they sparkled there, 
And they all were free as the very air. 

Here we can see what was ours before the be- 
ginning was ; 
What was given us by the First Great Cause. 
Pause but a moment of time ere meeting to- 
morrow's task ; 
Is it hard to see in the fields, I ask. 
Strangers at toil where a greybeard then, with 
his wrinkled face. 
Was so dear he seems to still haunt the place? 

Yea ! But it passes ; his toil is done. And his 

helpmeet, too. 

Is at rest ; their work has passed on to you. 

Work ? Is it never completed, then ? Must we 

toil as they. 

Sow the seed, reap harvest, and pass away ? 



26 POEMS 

Yea! Though we sow in the city. Yea! 
Though the stranger here ; 
Though he enter the holiest place, why fear ? 
Children of his will pass over steps we have trod 
before ; 
And to them this place will be teaching more. 
Then when our children forget the granite, that 
made our bone. 
They will be the very foundation stone, 
Bearing the cares of the nation, e'en as these 
hills the state, 
And in them love of home will not abate. 



BROWN 27 



FAIR NEWPORT. 

Farewell, dear scenes, where happy days were 

spent, 
Instinct with pleasures of contented mind ; 
Where circling hills receive the morning's kiss. 
And peaceful ways the winding valleys find ; 

Where nature lends her varied tints and shades. 
To crown the heights with living diadems. 
And jeweled rivers running at their feet 
Enrich their robes with beauty's regal gems. 

The wind swings low the censer of the pine, 
And lades the air with richness of its balm, 
While sun and moon resplendently renew 
The overspreading restfulness and calm. 

The clust'ring hamlets of the village creep 
Across the slopes and through the lesser plains, 
Expressing differed minds of those within, 
Whose fellowship the social law constrains. 

The tumbling waters of the narrow vale 
Bring commerce steaming through its open gate, 



28 POEMS 

To pause within the threshold of the town 
As though it entered too precipitate. 

And worship, here, the soul prepares for God 
In temples wrought by the Almighty's hand. 
While man has built his altars visible. 
At which his spirit's fervency is fanned. 

Within the mill Religion's sister. Toil, 
Enslaves to whirring wheels the captive hands. 
But leaves the mind unfettered, in its power 
To bring to pass what Labor's heart commands. 

When brilliant night succeeds the splendid day, 

Each hero finds his heroine and home 

The perfect magnet of his soul's desire. 

To hold the steps that otherwise might roam. 

When shadows creep along the village streets, 
Like ghostly knights upon a holy quest. 
The cup they seek is found in every home 
Where love abides an ever welcome guest. 
So, as the stars their vigils keep o'er you. 
Farewell, dear scenes, where happy days were 

spent. 
If they be past they will not be forgot ; 
Though roamers wander, you remain content. 



BROWN 29 



FLAG OF FREEDOM. 

O'er us floats the Flag of Freedom 
Blazoned with the starry dome; 

Bars of red for Life and Honor, 
Stripes of white for Faith and Home. 

Flag of Flags! The Flag of Freedom! 

Hope of millions yet to be ! 
Born amid the pangs of warfare, 

Dearest emblem of the free! 

'Neath its folds the brave have battled, 

It has gladdened dying eyes; 
While the slave has been made holy. 

By that flag which helped him rise. 

And while we remember fathers. 

By whose valor it was won, 
There can never f oeman mar it, — 

Traitor hide it from the sun. 

One by one its stars have gathered. 
Burst through scattered clouds of night, 

And the glory of the vision 
Gave the world new gleams of light. 



30 POEMS 

Now are other constellations 
Flashing out in darkened lands, 

Where the might of human longings 
Has cast off their strangling bands. 

Not a nation knew the meaning 
When we trooped our Colors Three, 

But they learn the lesson, slowly. 
One by one are struggling free. 

All the races march beneath it, 

S5mibol of a world to be. 
When their blood, which dyes its crimson. 

Shall have made our brothers free. 

Call the roll of all the nations! 

Who is for Democracy? 
Seven seas return their answers. 

Voices crying "Liberty." 

France, who helped to weave the fabric 

Of Old Glory, with her brave. 
Was the first to catch its radiance — 

Welcome it beyond the wave. 

Now, with flag of France entwining. 
Till the world shall be made free. 

Let the Stars and Stripes be herald 
Of a World Democracy. 



BROWN 31 



EDITION CLOSED. 

The form is full ; naught's left upon the bank, 
The last stick dumped, last galley proved, 

The last sheet bears the impress of the world ; 
And how can we who made it stand unmoved? 

Its grime has mingled daily with our sweat, 
Its joys and sorrows compassed all the earth. 

And now it bears the last sweet word we wrought 
Of those in death, in marriage, or in birth. 

Our veins were quickened as we wrought ; 

And pens, supplanted by the latter-day ma- 
chine. 
Wrote in the tale what we had learned in school. 

Not childhood's, but the later man's, I ween. 

Or else the tale embellished by its head 
Became to others living " takes " of thought. 

Reformed as magic by the nimble hand 
Which dumped the " stick " wherein itself was 
wrought. 



32 POEMS 

God bless the "devil" in whose kindly care 
All trusted as the proof was "pulled " — 

In which the reader found our sins, 
And sent them back to us where we had 
bulled. 

The form is full. The last line's locked in place ; 

The mallet, quoin and apron laid aside. 
Our work is done and so we say. Good Night, 

And leave what we had been before it died. 

June 30, 1913. 



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